


Desire Rhymes With a Burning Hot Thing

by Macremae



Series: Mind/Body/Spirit [3]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Bipolar Newton Geiszler, Bondage, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, Ghost drift, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jewish Character, Judaism, M/M, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Porn with Feelings, Post-Movie: Pacific Rim: Uprising (2018), Praise Kink, Rape Recovery, Recovery, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Time Skips, Trans Newton Geiszler, anti catholicism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-05 16:50:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18832714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macremae/pseuds/Macremae
Summary: Newt is still kinda figuring out what happened to him over the past ten years, but the general diagnosis isn't one he exactly agrees with. That shouldn't matter, though, because his current goal is figuring out to put all this bullshit aside and ravish his husband. It's simple. It's biology. He shouldn't have any problem with it whatsoever.Ex-fucking-cept.





	Desire Rhymes With a Burning Hot Thing

**Author's Note:**

> oh my god i finished this. holy shit. mind/body/spirit is bar none the most personal project, not to mention collection of writing, i have ever published, and the fact that its over now blows my goddamn mind. i still have a few things to say in this universe, so there might be a drabble collection after this, but the main story is finished. thank you to the group chat for encouraging me through this wildly weird debacle, aj for offering advice to a very assimilated jew, my rabbi (obvi, although hopefully he has no idea he's helped with this), hozier for helping me write the most emotionally complicated sex scene i've ever done, and the butch tag on tumblr for giving me karla's outfit inspiration. dyke rights, my chickens. read carefully, but enjoy <3

I.  
One moment Newt is curled up next to Hermann, their arms around each other and legs intertwined, and the next he’s in a very unfamiliar room.

It’s a bedroom, clearly, with a large king sized bed that’s covered with pillows and soft-looking blankets. There’s a bedside table on each side, both with their own lamps, and both covered with books. One has a pair of square-rimmed glasses seemingly tossed haphazardly on its surface, and the other has circular spectacles with a chain, neatly folded and placed next to an antique alarm clock. There’s a sudoku book on the more organized side with a ballpoint pen, while the messier table is covered with stray papers, several guitar picks, and two different books on dinosaurs. It looks… familiar somehow. The only thing out of place is a thin black collar lying on the neatly smoothed comforter, a horizontal ring where the tags would be. 

Newt looks down at himself and realizes he’s wearing new clothes. Or, at least, they’re new to him. They look worn in: a faded red t-shirt with the words, “proud gay uncle of the world’s stupidest fighting machines” in white Comic Sans MS, a pair of star-patterned boxers that appear to glow in the dark, and a shit ton of hair ties. With a start, Newt runs a hand through his hair to discover it’s at least shoulder length, falling in gentle waves around his face. His body is different, too: his arms are toned and muscular, and he’s softer around the middle. There’s no knot of constant anxiety in his chest. He just feels… content.

“What the…” he mutters, running a hand through his hair again (and holy shit, it’s _soft_ ), before the door behind him swings open. Newt spins around, feeling oddly guilty, until he sees Hermann standing in the doorway.

A Hermann who is wearing briefs and _nothing else_.

“Hello, darling,” he says, smiling as if Newt has just opened a particularly thoughtful birthday present. “Do you like it?”

“Uh…” says Newt, still not quite over the fact that Hermann is literally _this close_ to being naked right in front of him. “L-- Like what? Exactly?”

“I know you mentioned this sort of thing before,” Hermann continues, “and you’ve been making a lot of progress lately, so I wanted to surprise you. It’s rather basic, yes, but I was thinking we could try it out and see how it feels?”

Newt glances behind him for any clues as to _what the fuck_ Hermann is talking about, and his gaze falls on the collar. A memory rises to the surface of a particularly weird wet dream, in which Hermann fucked him into the mattress of his shitty PPDC bunk while tugging at the collar around his neck and thumbing his clit so hard he saw stars. Newt blinks.

“Wait, hold on-- are you talking about the-- the… y-- y’know?” he sputters, face going bright red. Hermann nods brightly.

“Would you like me to put it on?”

Newt opens his mouth to say the logical thing, which is no, no he would not like Hermann to collar him, that would be weird and gross and totally wrong. However, what actually comes out is, “Please.”

Hermann steps around him to pick up the collar and holds it out in front of him with his free hand. Newt stares at it for a good ten seconds, something caught in his throat, before leaning forward. Hermann puts his cane on the bed, reaches down, and clasps the collar around his throat, the buckle making a soft click!. Newt lets out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. “Oh.”

Hermann runs a hand through his hair and brings it down to cup his jaw. “There you go, love. Doesn’t that feel nice?”

Here’s the crazy thing: _it does_. Newt’s mind, formerly buzzing and whirring and yelling a thousand different things at once, has gone quiet. His body feels both light and heavy at the same time. The world looks softer, somehow. Warmer. It feels… really, really good.

Newt lets out a pleased hum in reply, leaning into Hermann’s touch. All his worries and anxieties are gone, replaced with the alien yet certain knowledge that everything is going to be fine. Hermann’s in control now. Hermann will take care of him. He can fucking _relax_.

Hermann pulls at the ring of the collar, tugging Newt forward into a gentle kiss. His mouth is soft and firm, moving against Newt’s like he knows exactly what to do. Newt feels himself sinking into it, putting his hands lightly on Hermann’s waist and pressing their chests together. Hermann moves his other hand to the small of Newt’s back, the heat from it pulsing outward in waves. 

He pushes Newt backwards onto the bed, moving his head down to mouth at his neck. “Good boy, Newton,” he says tenderly. “You’re doing such a good job, now. Just relax, that’s it. I’m right here.”

Newt bares his neck more, letting out little whimpers and gasps as Hermann sucks at the sensitive skin. This, too, feels familiar; like Hermann is marking him as his own. The idea, that Newt belongs to Hermann, that he is his, feels comforting. Like he’s truly, honestly wanted.

Hermann climbs further on top of him, grabbing a pillow from the pile and slipping it underneath his knee. He slides his hands under Newt’s shirt, mapping his stomach (his ribs don’t show anymore, he’s not concave anymore, it’s wonderful) and pushing the shirt over Newt’s head. Next come the boxers, and Newt reaches for Hermann’s waistband until a hand stops him.

“Did you forget the rules, darling?” Hermann says coyly. “Hands above your head.”

Newt obeys on instinct, and Hermann uses his shirt to tie them together in a loose knot. Newt feels the last bits of tension leave his body, any lurking concerns of hurting Hermann disappearing now that his hands are bound. Hermann presses a kiss to each of his palms, then moves back down to suck several bruises on his thighs. Newt makes a high sort of keening noise as he bites down gently, his hips canting upwards. “I-- oh, Hermann, shit--”

Hermann moves his mouth up slightly higher, poking his tongue in between Newt’s folds. He licks a stripe upwards, and Newt yelps, heat coursing through him like a lighting strike. Hermann moves his tongue more, swirling it around his clit and dipping it lower to lick just above Newt’s entrance. He digs his fingers into Newt’s hips gently, just enough to be possessive. “Hermann,” Newt gasps, bucking up into Hermann’s mouth, “Hermann, more-- please--”

He presses his tongue into Newt achingly slowly, letting the muscle slip in to wriggle around. Then, Hermann begins to move it in and out, pausing only to move back up to his clit and suck for a few moments. His mouth is hot and wet, moving against Newt’s sex faster and faster as Newt begins to pant. It feels incredible, the sensation of tongue on skin setting every nerve in Newt’s body on fire. He can feel Hermann murmur against him, breathing out, “Mine, mine, mine,” as he plunges his tongue deeper.

Newt’s died and gone to heaven, he can barely catch his breath he’s in so much pleasure. The collar is firm around his neck, and Hermann’s fingers on his hips are grounding, and his moans are pitching higher and higher, mounting as the warmth in his stomach and the back of his throat grows until it finally reaches the edge--

With a start, Newt’s eyes fly open as he snaps awake. Hermann is sprawled beneath him, an arm around his waist, breathing softly in sleep and completely unaware of the turmoil in his husband’s mind. They’re in their quarters. In the Shatterdome. Sleeping. Newt takes stock of what he can remember, panic beginning to swirl as he realizes what’s happened.

For the first time in ten years, he’s horribly aroused.

II.  
“I think it’s a lovely varnish,” says Karla, looking at the drying frames pleasedly. “Warm tones are a very good accent for a living room.”

Newt nods. “I was thinking we could put in some of the paintings we found at the market. I like the one with the tomato plant and the sword. There’s supposed to be some big societal meaning it it about our post-war reconciliation or whatever, but I think it just looks dope.”

The afternoon sun shines lazily through the windows of Newt and Hermann’s new apartment, casting long shadows on the warm wooden floor. It’s in a quiet part of town, filled mostly with elderly folks and new parents, and there’s already been a few people by with food to welcome them in. Karla had arrived in her already messy dig clothes with a pot of varnish, and together she and Newt had painted a collection of frames made to hold everything ranging from Newt’s old Star Trek posters, to the three-dozen pictures they’d picked out for the wall. His favorite is the one he had taken while on a research trip with Hermann when they snuck down to the hotel beach to stargaze. The flash almost ruins the photo, but it makes something warm and funny wriggle around in Newt’s chest.

He and Hermann are still trying to figure out this whole domestic thing now that Newt is free and clear and Hermann is living on enough pension money for three very expensive lifetimes, but they’re getting there. They cook dinner together (from Dr. Flaerty’s extremely specific meal plan that does not include half as much butter as Newt ends up using), and watch movies (no mind control plot elements of any kind, and no choking either), and slowly chip away at that book deal Vanessa set up for them (the best way to get a story straight, of course, is to tell it yourself). 

Things are going pretty well. Of course, there’s the one little problem that’s come up ever since Newt starting having dreams other than nightmares, but… well, Hermann doesn’t _have_ to know.

“Claudia Atierno,” Karla replies. “That’ll be worth a lot someday. She’s gaining quite a bit of popularity in the art world.”

“Karla, I am so done with caring about how famous or pricey art is. It’s got a sword in it. That’s all that matters.” He reaches for the frame, but Karla sucks in a breath and grabs his wrist.

“Oh, careful,” she begins, “it’s still-”

The room goes soundless and grey.

“Don’t _fucking_ touch me!” Newt screeches without warning, and jerks his arm away. His eyes are wide and frightened, and his breath comes in short gasps. He’s deathly pale. Karla backs away slowly, mouth parted slightly in shock as Newt presses his lips together and sucks in air. “Do _not_ touch me-- don’t, okay? I-- I don’t--”

“Alright,” she says quietly, holding her hands up where he can see them. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. My mistake.” She pauses, taking in his panicked demeanor. “Are you alright, Newt?”

Newt blinks forcefully, shaking like a leaf. “I… yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. I-- I just don’t really like people touching me without warning, t-- that’s all.”

Karla nods. “I understand. That’s a natural occurrence for people who’ve been through what you have.”

He frowns. “What-- what do you mean?”

“Hermann told me what your therapist called it during a session together,” she explains. “Mind rape.”

At this word, Newt flinches. “I-- I dunno if that’s a very apt description.”

“Isn’t it? Someone took your body and used it for things you didn’t want to do. They took control away and caused you damage and pain. Perhaps it wasn’t sexual, yes, but ‘rape’ is still the word that fits.”

Newt huffs angrily, a little calmer now. “Alright, okay, I know how these things go at this point. You’re gonna tell me that this specific part of my trauma actually relates to a real world thing, and then you’re gonna tell me that you’re a survivor of it. Sure.”

“That’s correct,” says Karla, and Newt’s mouth drops open.

“Wait. Wait. What?”

She shrugs delicately. “I am a survivor of sexual assault. Your assumption was correct.”

He stares. “But… but you’re a lesbian. Like, a head-buzzing, combat boot stomping, man punching, utterly terrifying to anyone who messes with you, butch lesbian. Who on Earth would have the balls to try and rape you?”

“It may surprise you to know this,” Karla says wryly, “but there was in fact a time when I did not know I was ‘big scary dyke’. I grew up in the same household Hermann did, and our father was extremely homophobic and heteronormative. He expected his sons and daughter to look and act a certain way, and it took a very long time for me to come to terms with my butchness.”

Newt continues staring, but his eyes are huge and sad. “So… you were just a kid?”

She nods. “Barely fifteen. Although, there have certainly been younger cases.”

Very tentatively, Newt reaches out a hand and puts it on her arm. “I-- I’m sorry,” he says. “That sounds genuinely fucking awful. You’re way too good a person to deserve that.”

Karla smiles sadly. “No one does, my dear. And I am very lucky that I have such good friends who helped me through it.”

Newt nods absentmindedly, rolling the words over in his mind like chocolate. “Yeah. Yeah,” he says, because Karla is right; because some people aren’t that lucky. Some people have their first sexual experience half-drunk and sixteen in the upstairs bedroom of an MIT frat party, shirt still on to hide their binder, heart racing as they realize how huge and scary and strange intimacy between two human beings really is. Some people lie on the bed long after the other person has zipped their jeans back up and headed down to the fray, anxiety choking their lungs, realizing that everything happened so quickly and suddenly they didn’t really know if they were ready at all. They dress slowly and numbly, the noise blocked out by an insistent buzzing in their head, and stumble back to their dorm to curl up fully-clothed beneath their comforter and cry with the realization that their body doesn’t really know their brain that well. Or maybe it’s the other way around.

Some people come of age alone, and remain that way for a very long time.

 

III.  
There’s donuts after the service, and while Newt hurries off to audition his next Dunkin’ Donuts replacement, Hermann sidles up to Karla looking nervous. “What did you do?” she asks.

Hermann shoots her a look. “Nothing. Good heavens, Karla, we’re in a temple. Show some kindness to your brother.”

She smiles at him, a twinkle in her eye. “I never said I wouldn’t help you bury the body. I just need to know where it is.”

He brings the butt of his cane down on her toe, though not hard. “Some delicacy, please. I need advice, not a biodegradable container.”

“The fact that you know you would need one--”

“ _Karla_.”

She laughs. “Tell me what you need, dear. I’ll do my best.”

Hermann fidgets with his cane a bit, his mouth doing that funny movement it always makes when he’s trying to say something difficult. “It’s about Newton.”

“I assumed so. He’s doing well, I think. Coping. Still lots that need it, but coping all the same.”

Hermann nods. “Indeed. And he told me about your conversation the other day. About what happened during the last few years. How… you might have some perspective on what I want to ask him.”

Karla’s expression doesn’t change, but she pitches her voice softer. “You want to be intimate with him.”

He reddens. “Er. Yes. In far politer words.”

“Hermann, I don’t think they exist. But I understand your trepidation. Taking things further with someone who has been through the amount and type of trauma as he… it takes a lot of care and attention. Not that I think you don’t have that-- you surely do. But understanding the little things in people has never been our strong suit. My best advice for you is to talk to him.”

Hermann scoffs. “I am.”

“No, Hermann, really. Communication in this sort of thing is key. You need to be 100% honest with each other, and you can’t assume the other knows exactly what you’re thinking. That never ends well. Speak your mind. I know you tend to have difficulties in that area, but that’s my best advice.” She winks. “And go slow.”

He still looks uncomfortable. “It’s just… I know Newton is afraid of this, but he has so much more experience than I.”

“Hermann you have no experience.”

“I know! What if I do something wrong? What if I ruin it for him?”

Karla sucks in the insides of her cheeks and bites them. “Somehow I don’t think his expectations are so high that will happen. He doesn’t have you up on a pedestal, Hermann. He just loves you.”

“I think he’s afraid I don’t love him back as much.”

“And are you scared of the same thing?” she asks. Hermann nods.

“I know it’s silly--”

“It is. No offense, dear, but it really is. Your love for each other was so powerful that it broke through ten years of mind control. I don’t think there can be any doubts after that.”

Hermann shuffles his feet. “And yet.”

“And yet. The wonders of the human psyche.” She laughs. “You know, we humans haven’t really changed all that much since the beginning. We still fall in love with the wrong people at the right time, or the right people at the wrong time, or whichever you think applies to you and Newt. We get hurt and we make mistakes and we get better. We evolve. Life goes on.” Karla gives him a bright smile. “Bloody brilliant, isn’t it?”

He humphs. “You’re the twin who’s always been far more understanding of people. Don’t look to me for answers.”

“Heaven forbid.” A pause, and then, “I’m glad Newt came with you to service today. After what happened to me, reconnecting with God really helped me come to terms with things. I’m hoping He’ll do the same for him.”

“The man is only half Jewish, Karla.”

“The mother’s side. That makes him Jewish enough for me. Enough to unlearn all that rubbish about eating a dying man’s body and blood every Sunday, I hope. What a horrible concept.”

Hermann snickers. “Don’t say that outside of here; you’ll get crucified.”

“I’d like to see them try. But honestly, Hermann, I do hope this will encourage him to reach out to the community and make connections. Having places to go and things to do and people to meet would do a lot of good.”

Her brother nods in agreement. “He’s certainly aware of my feelings on religion. This isn’t anything new to him.”

Karla glances down at him, humor sparkling in her eyes. “Handwriting of God, yes?”

“Shut up. I was very sleep deprived and desperately trying to prevent the love of my life from soul-melding with a cold cut.”

She barks out a laugh. “Good gracious, you two really did Drift together, didn’t you? That sounded almost exactly like him.”

Hermann pales. “Oh good Lord. It’s catching.”

“Next thing you know you’ll be listening to Queen and buying a pair of skinny jeans,” she teases. 

“Unfortunately, I already listen to Queen. That ship has been sailing since the first Drift.”

“And the skinny jeans?”

“No. Never. And he knows that very, very well.”

Karla snorts and looks over at Newt, who is chatting animatedly with a young mother holding her baby. There’s still an air of hesitance and nerves about him, but the woman seems delighted by his company. She holds her baby out to him, and Newt carefully reaches out his finger for the child to grab. He seems transfixed and cautious at the same time, but a massive smile breaks out over his face as the woman insists her baby likes him. It’s no Drift, nothing like that, but she can almost feel Hermann’s pride and happiness at the sight of his husband looking so at ease. 

“Spot on, my dear,” she says. “You two make a wonderful team.”

Hermann preens. There are three people in the world whose opinions he holds in such high regard, and Karla’s was the first to reach that status. She reaches out a hand to give him a marginally awkward pat on the shoulder. “Just let things come naturally. You’ll be fine.”

IV.  
It’s movie night, and for some ungodly reason, they’re watching yet _another_ period drama.

Now, Newt doesn’t judge his husband’s admittedly sappy taste in flicks. He gets it; Hermann’s an old romantic with the personality and style of an 1800s dandy, and sometimes he just likes to watch a bunch of historically accurate human beings faint over hand touches. Not entirely out of character for the guy. However, Newt’s begun to suspect that Hermann has some slightly ulterior motives in mind.

It begins with a simple arm around his shoulders, which for Hermann is about as indecent as coming on someone’s face. _But_ , there’s Drift bleed through to consider, so Newt gives it a pass for now. They’re both extremely touch-starved people who go into anaphylactic shock over brushing pinkies, and maybe the guy’s just feeling extra needy tonight. Newt can 100% relate. It’s cool. He likes it.

Then, Hermann moves his hand down to Newt’s waist.

On the Hermann Gottlieb Repression Equivalence Scale, this is the man’s version of groping Newt’s ass (which has never happened before. Bummer), and some alerts immediately start going off in the owner of said waist’s head. Hermann’s more than touchy tonight, he’s being downright seductive. Which can only mean one thing, and that idea gets Newt’s heart pounding like the overpowered drum lines of his old college band. 

Newt doesn’t mind the idea of having sex with Hermann. He’s actually super open to it. Like, more than open to it. As in, he’s had about twenty wet dreams about the topic and desperately wants to hurry up and get into his husband’s pants, open to it. They didn’t even fuck on their wedding night for Christ’s sake; this is getting ridiculous. 

The problem is, Newt is still just getting used to being the sole owner of his body again. Sometimes he thinks he can still hear echoes of the Precursors rattling around in there, taunting him, hissing that he’ll never be truly free. It scares him shitless. How could he ever give Hermann the amazing, world-shattering, perfect first time he truly deserves when he’s not absolutely sure it won’t turn into another attempted murder?

He knows it isn’t fair to Hermann to deny him this based on such flimsy evidence and silly fears, but Newt would rather a pissed off but still alive husband than a satisfied but dead one. It’s Hermann. It’s his soulmate. It has to be flawless. The man deserves nothing less.

 _Newt Gottlieb get a fucking grip_ he thinks to himself. _You’re being an idiot, and an asshole one at that. Hermann didn’t marry you just so you could ruin things by being paranoid; he deserves better than that. Better than you. Loosen up for fuck’s sake and show the guy a good time._

Gathering his courage, Newt covers the hand around his waist with his own and tilts his head to look up at Hermann. He’s fine. He can do this. He’s cool.

“Someone’s handsy tonight,” he says, trying for sexy but ending up kind of strangled instead. Hermann doesn’t seem to notice, though, and blushes. 

“I’m afraid I simply can’t help myself. I have a very handsome husband, you see.”

 _Oh motherfucker,_ Newt thinks, _that was actually smooth. The guy can be smooth now. What else did I miss while I was possessed?_

“Ghost Drift,” says Newt. “I was thinking the same thing.”

Hermann gives him a shy little smile, and Newt’s heart flutters. God, he’s so fucking cute. Newt’s the luckiest guy in the world. “I’m the luckiest guy in the world,” he says, and Hermann blushes harder.

“Don’t be silly, dear. That title was taken by me years ago.”

Okay. So either Newt’s really out of practice, or Hermann fucking Gottlieb is beating him at flirting. By a lot. No fair.

He leans up and gives Hermann a soft, chaste kiss, but the other man catches him by surprise by quickly turning it into a heated, open-mouthed affair. Hermann grips his waist harder and moves to press Newt back into the couch cushions, bringing his other hand up to cup Newt’s jaw. Newt lets himself be taken along for the ride for a few moments before remembering who’s taking whose virginity here, and quickly wraps his arms around Hermann’s back to pull him closer. He pulls back to get a little air, but Hermann chases his lips and makes a soft sound into his mouth that’s somehow both adorable and sexy at the same time.

Newt’s actually starting to get into this now, canting his hips up against Hermann’s to rub against his rapidly growing erection. Hermann groans a little and kisses him harder, shifting his position to better cushion his knee before stroking his hand down Newt’s side to rest on his hip. He squeezes it gently, rubbing his thumb back and forth across the bone. “That’s nice,” Newt murmurs, anxieties almost completely forgotten. This isn’t so bad at all. He’s can totally do this.

And then Hermann leans back, stares at him with lust-blown eyes, and says, “What would you like to do to me, Newton?”

Newt freezes. “Uh. What?” 

Hermann blinks at him slowly like a cat. “Well, you have far more experience than I; you obviously know what you’re doing. I assumed you’d be taking the lead here?”

“Oh,” says Newt. “Sure. I can totally do that.”

 _Liar_.

Newt has never, ever, not once in his _life_ , topped someone before. He’s not that kinda guy. A delicate mix of bipolar disorder type two, ADHD, and general obliviousness to social cues have made Newt into a person who needs two things when it comes to sex: reassurance that the second party is genuinely into him, and _clear directions_. The one time he _tried_ to be on top, he almost worked himself into a panic attack trying to figure out what to say and eventually had to just beg his girlfriend to pull his hair and let him eat her out (she did, with no small amount of amusement, but it was horrifically embarrassing).

This is now doubly true post-Precursors. Newt can’t imagine being the one in charge here, much less telling Hermann what to do. What if he says something wrong? What if he messes up? What if Hermann doesn’t actually like what he’s doing, but stays quiet to try and save Newt’s feelings? Or worse yet, what if he accidentally hurts Hermann and it ruins their relationship forever and he never wants to speak to Newt again and Newt ends up overdosing (again) because he can’t stand life without his other half and ends up in purgatory for the rest of his existence because even though he technically didn’t want to kill anyone he still was a monster?

On second thought, Newt might be having another panic attack.

He swallows hard to try and calm his breathing, any arousal completely gone. He can’t do this. He cannot fucking do this. He has to, but he can’t. Newt’s screwed. What the fuck is he going to do?

Of course, Hermann chooses this exact moment to start being able to read facial expressions and frowns. “Newton?” he asks worriedly. “Are you alright?”

Newt nods quickly. “Um. Yeah! Just…. uh… considering my options?”

Hermann’s brow furrows. “If you’re sure.” He leans back and situates himself into a comfortable position, looking up at Newt expectantly. “Whenever you’re ready, love. Take your time.”

Newt takes one look at Hermann, hands folded delicately on his chest, eyes wide and trusting, utterly ready to put himself in Newt’s care, and feels his heart drop down all four stories of their apartment building.

“I…” he croaks, then snaps his mouth shut. “I can’t do this.” Without warning he bolts up from the couch like a lightning strike, scrambles to the front door, grabs his boots, and runs out of the apartment like there’s hell on his heels. The door slams shut behind him, and Newt doesn’t stay still long enough to hear if Hermann bothers calling for him to come back.

V.  
The sharp footsteps of Karla’s oxfords echo throughout the empty synagoge, bouncing off the ornate walls and piercing the midnight silence. The world inside the walls is quiet, lit only by candles and the moonlight streaming through the stained glass windows. It falls on the floor in soft puddles, illuminating a worn red carpet tread down by countless footsteps over the years. The chandelier above is lit dimly, casting shadows below on the wooden seats. She stops at the front, looking up at the ornate carvings that rise above the steps in swirls of oak and cedar, blooming into flowers and stars of David. The air is slightly musty, yet sweet, and she breathes in deeply. There is a peacefulness here that she has never found anywhere else; a sense of home and safety despite a colder world wishing otherwise.

After a moment she turns and slides into one of the pews next to Newt, who is hunched over, elbows on his knees, eyes staring at something not quite of this world. His freckles glow soft blue in the dim light, and there is a strange look to his face that is not human. Not frightening, Karla supposes (he would never hurt anyone, much less her), but not one of ease, either.

“Hermann called me,” she says to the altar, not looking at him. “I thought I might find you here.” Newt doesn’t reply, just sucks in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. His hands are clenched tightly together in front of him in a facsimile of prayer, and Karla can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking. She glances sidelong at him. “Am I interrupting a conversation?”

“I’m trying to start one,” Newt mumbles, “but I don’t think that’s gonna happen.”

Karla raises an eyebrow. “And why not?”

He laughs humorlessly. “Just look at me. I’m glowing in the dark, Karla. There are puncture marks in my lip from where my incisors bit down. I’m a monster. There’s no way God would ever want to talk to me.”

She makes a humming sound. “I think He would be very sad to hear you say that. You and your destiny were made right from the start, all determined in His perfect design. He planned all of this out for you; good and bad. He would never abandon you because of who you’ve become.”

“I’m not human anymore,” Newt says blandly.

“I won’t deny that. But that doesn’t matter to God. He loves each and every one of His creations, from the tiniest ant, to a Kaiju-human scientist with one of the greatest hearts I’ve ever seen. You are perfect to Him, no matter what. That’s the first thing we’re taught here.”

Newt darts out his tongue to lick his slightly bloody lips. “Why-- why would He do something like this? Why would He say He loves me so much, and then put me through all of this mess? I’m broken, Karla. I-- I’m trying to put myself back together, but I’m still broken. How could a God who loves me do that to me?”

She shrugs. “No one really knows. We don’t get to see His plan, we’re just a part of it. I can’t promise you that things will always be wonderful and easy, but that’s the whole point. God gives us hardships to make us better and more loving people. He tests us. He tests our faith. It’s difficult and sometimes horrible, yes, but there is never a single thing in this world that doesn’t have meaning. There’s a plan.” She spreads her hands. “It’s ineffable.”

Newt snorts. “Okay, Aziraphale.”

“I don’t know who that is.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m revoking your gay card. But seriously, you can’t honestly believe that everything is going to turn out exactly the way someone wants it, do you?”

Karla nods firmly. “It’s all about faith, Newt. You have to believe that things will get better. You have to believe that He loves you. It’s how religion works.”

“That’s never really done much for me, dude.”

“Well, your father and uncle raised you Catholic for one thing. That whole system is bloody ridiculous.”

He laughs again, but this time lighter. “Yeah. It’s pretty fu-- messed up.”

Karla turns to look at him, searching his face for clues as to what to say. Newt’s eyes are sad; they have been ever since the first time she saw them, even before Tokyo. It’s clear that he’s a man who has carried sorrow with him for a long, long time. She aches for him. She hurts in empathy.

Although… perhaps that’s the answer. 

Karla leans back and crosses her legs. “Has Hermann ever told you how he found out what happened to me?” she asks conversationally. Newt’s head jerks up in surprise.

“No. He didn’t think it was his place.”

She smiles. “Always the gentleman. But. Would you mind terribly if I told you?”

_Rewind_

Karla first remembers to start breathing again when she feels her brother’s hand on her back rubbing small, hesitant circles over her spine. 

It’s almost three am by the light of their digital clock, and the room is dark and filled only with the sound of Karla’s hyperventilating. She scrabbles for air like she’s trying to hold onto a wet bar of soap in the shower, alternating between fast huffs and long, shuddering gasps. Hermann flutters nervously over her, unsure of what to do or say. She digs her nails into her palms, using the sensation to ground herself and yank her mind back to Earth.

“Karla,” Hermann says, anxiety choking his voice, “it’s alright, it was just a nightmare. You’re fine. Please calm down, I-- I don’t want to have to go get Father.”

“Don’t--!” Karla manages, and Hermann flinches away for the briefest of moments before moving his hand back onto her again. “Please d-- don’t tell hi--him. Please.”

“Okay,” he says reassuringly, and continues to move his hand. “You’ve never been this upset after a bad dream before, did something happen?” He tenses. “Did-- Did father…?”

Karla barely remembers to shake her head. “No. N-- Not father.”

“Can… can you talk about it?”

She gulps down air and bites her lip hard enough to draw blood. “I--” Karla stops and gets a little bit of a grip on herself before letting out a long exhale. “You cannot tell anyone. Promise me, Hermann.”

Hermann looks worried. “But what if--”

Karla turns to face him and grabs his hand frantically. “Promise me!”

Hermann flinches at her grip, but nods. “A-- Alright. I promise.”

She clenches her jaw, something hot and sticky and wrong bubbling up in her gut. The words have formed in her mouth, but they refuse to come out. Something is stopping her from saying three simple syllables, as if making them vocal would cement the entire experience as being real, and Karla struggles to draw breath. Hermann continues to look at her, worry flashing in his eyes. Finally, she forces out, “Do-- Do you remember the football game I went to a few nights ago?”

Hermann nods. “Yes. You came home past curfew and Father was cross.”

“When I was there, I…” she continues. “I saw Andy Emma. And he invited me into the locker room to have a smoke. I-- I just went with him; I didn’t think anything bad would happen. He was so kind and polite, and I thought if I went along with it, he would think I was cool and mature. So-- So I went to the locker room.” Karla pauses, focusing her thoughts again as they threaten to slip away from her. “And he gave me a cigarette, and he sat next to me, and I thought things were fine. But then he put his hand on my knee and started moving it up higher, and I wanted to tell him to stop, but the words wouldn’t come out, and then he put it up my skirt, and by the time I finally started yelling, he-- he--”

_A sick, sinking feeling that builds behind her throat and comes up as burning, shaking nausea. Blind panic that festers into terror and shock and horror. Screams echoing off stone walls that no one else can hear, sounds that are choked, and the numbing feeling that no one is coming to save her. She feels like a trapped bird in a cage beating its wings until it crumples and dies. Everything hurts and he still hasn’t stopped, and her face is wet and snotty but that doesn’t deter him at all. She’s floating outside of herself, watching from above as her body becomes no longer hers, until finally--_

“He raped me.”

Hermann sucks in a breath sharply. “I… oh. Oh, Karla.”

Tears begin to run down her face as she hunches over, sobbing. “I didn’t want it,” she cries, “I didn’t want any of it. Everything hurts so much, even my chest, and I tried to shower and wash it off but I feel so dirty and bad and wrong.”

It’s clear that Hermann doesn’t have any idea what to do, but he clutches her hand tightly anyway. “I’m so, so sorry,” he says. “Karla, I’m so sorry.”

“You promised,” she reminds him thickly, “you can’t tell anyone. Not even Vanessa or Bastien or Dietrich. Okay?”

Hermann looks like he would rather do exactly the opposite, but he nods. “Alright. I won’t tell anyone. But it wasn’t your fault, Karla, I promise. You wouldn’t be this upset if you were.”

“I could’ve--”

He shakes his head. “Andy wouldn’t’ve cared. He’s a right bastard. He trips me in the halls and takes my cane and calls me a cripple. And now he’s going to be one too.”

“Hermann--” Karla tries, but the look on her brother’s face stops her cold. She’s never seen it before; ice cold and cruel and utterly emotionless. In spite of herself, she worries for Andy. “Don’t do anything rash, Hermann.”

He snorts. “We’re twins. No one gets to hurt us and survive.”

“Hermann, really. You’ll kill yourself.”

“Then I’ll take him down with me,” he replies savagely, and, well. That’s the funny thing.

Karla genuinely believes him.

VI.  
“I’m so sorry,” is the first thing Newt says when he steps back into the living room. Hermann sits bolt upright from where he is on the couch, holding his hands anxiously, an expression of relief on his face.

“Karla said she found you,” he begins, “but I was still afraid--”

“No, I… ” Newt says, “I’m fine. Are-- are _you_ okay?”

Hermann keeps staring at him, and Newt waits for the other shoe to drop, for his expression to turn angry, for this fragile peace they’ve formed to vanish. He flinches; his body tenses in preparation for a (extremely one-sided) fight. But it never happens. Hermann just looks at him like Newt is the sun in his sky, and the most wonderful thing in the world would be for him to come back.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, and Hermann’s gaze softens from worry to regret. 

“Oh, Newton. It’s not your fault. You obviously weren’t ready, and I pushed you far too early and too forcefully. You have nothing to feel upset about.”

“No,” Newt insists, striding forward around the couch to stand in front of him. “No, I-- I want this. I want you; I really do. That isn’t the problem.”

“Then what is?” Hermann asks, and holds out a hand to Newt. He takes it and sits down gingerly, keeping a few inches of distance between them just in case Hermann realizes that Newt really is in the wrong here.

“I just… I know it’s your first time and you want help with it, and I can totally give that to you, but…” he pauses, fiddling with his bottom lip. Hermann waits patiently for him to continue. “I don’t want to be the one in control here. I can’t-- there’s too much I could do wrong, or mess up, or what if they come back and I hurt you again? And I want to make this perfect for you, because you deserve it! But I’ve never been the one on top before, and every time I’ve tried it’s always ended badly, and whenever I even think about doing shit with you where you’re not keeping me in check I freak out!”

Hermann blinks slowly. “So… how do you still think that this is your fault?”

Newt makes a face. “Uh, because it is? Because I was the one who lost my nerve and ran out on you? I-- I should have found a way to do things the way you wanted--”

“But that’s not how this works, Newton,” Hermann interrupts. “Sex is supposed to be reciprocal. I’m not going to enjoy myself if you don’t, especially since our minds are connected.”

Newt’s face falls as this sinks in. “Oh. Shit. I didn’t think about that.”

Hermann reaches over and puts a hand on his knee. “I want intimacy to be enjoyable for the both of us, and if you aren’t happy, then neither am I. I don’t want some fantasy, darling, I want love. If that means a compromise and working things out, then that’s just what we’ll do. It’s perfectly normal in relationships.”

“But it’s your first time!” he exclaims. “I want this to be perfect for you! You deserve it!”

Hermann blushes. “I’m very flattered that you think that, but I can assure you that I won’t enjoy myself if you’re unhappy. The entire reason I married you is so we could be a unit, not two clumsily glued together parts. And, have you perhaps considered that the only reason I asked you to take charge is so you would feel more comfortable?”

Newt blanches. “What? Why?”

“Because for the past ten years you had every aspect of control in your life taken from you! You never had any choice in anything; why on Earth would you want the same between us?”

“But…” Newt says plainly, “it’s different. It’s you. I trust you and I love you, and I know you would never do anything to hurt me or make me unhappy. And if you’re in control, there’s no chance I could mess up or say the wrong thing, or God forbid hurt you. I’d be safe.”

Hermann thinks on this for a moment, musing, before a lightbulb goes on in his mind. “Oh,” he says softly, “oh, I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. You want to be taken care of.”

Newt freezes, and his heart drops into his stomach. “I. Uh. W-- What?”

“You spent a long time with creatures who didn’t care about your well being or happiness, and your preferences reflect that. You don’t just need intimacy, you need protection and attention.” He spreads his hands like he’s just solved an equation. “Thus my statement: you want to be taken care of.”

Newt’s face fluctuates rapidly from drained of blood to burning hot, and he hunches in on himself. “I… maybe, but I never wanted you to find out! It’s stupid and awful, and you shouldn’t have to coddle me just because I was lonely or whatever! It’s not your job, and I’m not gonna force more problems and burdens on you that you don’t deserve.”

A bemused expression crosses Hermann’s face. “And you assume that’s not what I want, too?”

Every brain cell in Newt’s head grinds to a halt. “H-- Huh?”

Hermann’s hand creeps up a little higher. “Newton, when the Precursors made you leave, I thought you didn’t need me anymore, much less wanted me. That’s the reason I was so heartbroken. All my life I’ve been told that _I’m_ the invalid, that I need to be protected and smothered, and that I’ll never be the one helping someone else; especially since I have not one but _two_ disabilities. And now here you are, telling me that you want me to be the strong one? That you’d like me to take care of you, and take the lead, and be the one ‘in control’ as you said?” He beams at Newt. “I don’t think anything could make me happier.”

Newt’s blush gets even fiercer. “So… even though you’ve never actually done this before… you want to be the one in charge of things? For real?”

Hermann’s face is full of tenderness. “If that’s what you want, then yes.” He pauses, thinking again, and then looks Newt straight in the eyes. “So, tell me, Newton. What _do_ you want?”

This is a question Newt has rarely ever been asked before, and certainly not in a long time. He glances back up at Hermann, unfolding a bit, before looking away in embarrassment. “Uh. I’m not sure.”

“Take your time,” says Hermann. “The night is young, and it doesn’t even have to be tonight.”

Newt nods. “No, I-- just lemme think for a second.” He does. “Um, I don’t want to be able to use my hands. I’m not taking any chances here-- they’re gone, I know, and I trust your judgement, but… it would make me feel safer if they were tied up.” He looks up nervously at Hermann. “Is-- is that okay?”

Hermann nods. “We can go to the hardware store and get some cords that won’t rub, or order them online. Until then, would the belt on my dressing gown work?”

Newt can’t help but laugh. “I still can’t believe you call it that, but yeah. That’s perfect.”

“What else?”

“Uh…” He keeps thinking. “I need you to tell me when I’m doing something you like. Not because I’m fishing for compliments or anything like that-- but so I can keep doing it and I know what works. It’s scientific.”

Hermann gives him a bemused expression. “It’s alright to want praise, Newton. Most humans do, and anyone would in your position. You don’t have to be ashamed of something perfectly natural. I’m happy to compliment you, in the bedroom and out of it.”

Newt unfolds a little more. “If-- if you’re sure. Um, I like touching? Like, lots of it; I’ve never really been into the whole ‘sensory deprivation’ thing. Too much like dissociation. I want to know that you’re here, and I’m here, and this is real, and not just--”

“A hallucination?” Hermann finishes. He nods. “Fine by me. Is there anything you want off the table?”

“Gags,” Newt answers almost immediately. “I-- I have to be able to talk and talk to _you_.”

“I was going to suggest the same thing. I don’t want there to be a chance of you needing to stop and not being able to clearly tell me.”

“Yeah,” he says. “So, no hands over my mouth, or anything nonsexual in my mouth. I’m cool with giving you, uh, blowjobs and stuff, but only as long as I can move my head. No holding it down. You can pull my hair and stuff; that’s fine, I kinda like that, but…”

“No pressure?” Hermann suggests. 

“Yeah,” says Newt. “As long as I can talk, any other kind of restriction is fine.” He looks up at Hermann shyly. “Is there anything you want?”

Hermann appears almost as unfamiliar with the question as Newt is. “Ah,” he says, “well. I don’t really have a preference on positions; anything is fine as long as my knee is supported. Experience might change that, but we’ll see.” He blushes fiercely with his next request. “I suppose I’ve always liked lingerie, but I understand with your gender identity if you’re not comfortable with that.”

Newt shakes his head. “Fuck gender roles, that kinda stuff’s hot. I mean, I’m not gonna wear a bra or anything, but only because the band would rub against my scars, and they’re really sensitive. God knows we’ve got a ridiculous amount of money now; might as well spend it on something that makes you happy.” He grins. “Guess the Precursors were good for something after all. Man, I wish they could see what we’re gonna do with all the shit they fussed over making.”

The idea makes them both burst into giggles at the same time, and they end up dazedly smiling at each other like lunatics. Newt feels something warm and happy thrumming in his chest, and he moves forward to kiss Hermann without thinking. This time there are no lingering doubts or repressed anxieties; just calm certainty and a pleasant sensation of desire.

“Is now an okay time?” Newt murmurs. Hermann licks his lips.

“Absolutely.”

They make their way to the bedroom slowly, mainly due to the fact that neither of them can resist stopping to kiss some more. Finally, after Newt realizes his husband’s pants are starting to get uncomfortable, he pushes himself back onto the bed and pulls his shirt off. Hermann’s eyes drink in his tattoos, once a source of discord, now a victory banner, hungrily as he places his cane at the foot. He follows Newt and raises his arms above his head so he can divest him of his own shirt (it’s a brand new tee the cadets made for him that says “proud gay uncle of the world’s stupidest fighting machines”). Newt toes off his boots and kicks his pants off, then sits cross legged while Hermann removes his own slacks, then rises and unloops the belt from his bathrobe, which hangs on the closet door. 

Newt holds out his hands expectantly, and with a small amount of concentration, Hermann winds it around his wrists before tying it off in a double knot. He leans back and admires his work. “Too tight? Too loose?”

Newt grins. “Perfect. You good?”

Hermann nods, so he scooches back and lets himself flop down onto the bedspread, placing his hands above his head. Newt watches fondly as Hermann maneuvers his gangly legs to get his briefs off, so goddamn in love with his clumsy beanpole of a husband he can barely breathe. He lets out a sigh of contentment as he tests the strength of his bonds, feeling a million times safer already. Crisis, however potential, averted. Nice job, team.

Hermann takes Newt’s own boxers off like the gentleman he is, then pauses to assess the situation. “Do you need any help there, buddy?” Newt asked amusedly. Hermann rolls his eyes.

“I know the basic theory, Newton. I was just wondering if we should come up with a safeword before we start, just in case.”

“Calculus,” Newt says immediately. Hermann glares at him.

“Really, dear?”

“It’s the least sexy discipline!” he protests. “Would you rather it be Alan Turing?”

“Do _not_ bring his good name into this,” Hermann says, pointing an accusing finger at Newt’s chest. “I will not be associating our sex life with one of the greatest--”

“Oh my God are you seriously doing this right now--”

“--minds of mathematical history--”

“Hermann. Hermann. He fucked, too. Alan Turing fucked--”

“--and such slander will not be tolera--

“--I need you to know and understand thi--”

“Fine!” he shouts, throwing his hands up in the air. “Fine. Calculus it is. Honestly, Newton, use a vegetable like the rest of society.”

Newt laughs. “You seem awful knowledgeable on that for a virgin, dude. Did you read a lot of bodice rippers as a kid or something?” Hermann’s embarrassed silence says it all. “Oh my God that is fucking _adorable_. Holy shit. I love you so much, that is fucking _priceless_.”

Hermann’s scowl deepens. “Ah, yes, because your sexual education was so very honorable, Doctor ‘half inch binder full of Star Trek hentai slash fiction disflowerment’.”

“The vampires of thottery castle would beg to differ.”

“That is not the accurate title and you know it,” Hermann snaps. “Would you like me to fuck you or not?”

At the instance of Hermann cursing (Hermann said fuck, Hermann said fuck, whoa boy) Newt gets a jolt of arousal so hard he flinches. “Uh. Yeah,” he squeaks, “Sure, sure, absolutely, you win, alright?”

An unfortunately attractive look of smugness crosses Hermann’s face. “Wonderful. Spread your legs, Newton.”

Newt has never followed orders faster in his entire fucking _life_. Hermann’s “ordering around” voice is really deep and sexy in a way that goes straight to Newt’s clit, and with the first brush of Hermann’s finger across it, he lets out a noise that he’s. Well. Not super proud of.

Hermann, of course, seems utterly delighted by this turn of events, and presses down harder as he moves his finger back and forth. “I assume I’m doing this right,” he says casually, as if Newt isn’t makes the world’s most embarrassing set of moans right now. 

“Yeah,” he manages, trying to keep himself from coming literally five seconds into this (it’s been a really long time, since Newt has had sex). “Yeah, that’s-- really great, thanks, wow. M-- Move it in circles a little bit, please.”

Hermann does as he suggests, adding a second finger to better cover the areas, and Newt gives a long, shaky sigh. He cannot _believe_ they could’ve been doing this for years. Holy shit. “Are you cool with doing this ‘illegal in the eighteen hundreds style’?” he asks, “Cause this is nice and all-- really, really nice-- but you did say you were gonna fuck me.”

“Did I say that?” Hermann says coyly. “Hmm. How interesting. Do you think you’ve earned it, Newton? Have you been good for me?”

Oh, Hermann’s a fucking natural, bodice rippers be damned. Newt shouldn’t have worried at all. “Yes,” he begs, “yes, yes, Hermann I promise I’ll be really good, I will, just-- _shit yeah_ \-- please put your dick in me or I’m gonna die, honest to God.”

“I think I’ll need more convincing,” he replies, and then leans over to start kissing at various places on Newt’s neck. It’s… a very sensitive area, and Newt squirms under his lips, bucking up against his fingers. Hermann sucks hard on a spot, and Newt just knows that’s gonna leave a mark. Which: hot. So goddamn hot.

It’s while he’s reveling in the thought of hickies from his wonderful husband that Hermann moves over to the juncture of his neck and shoulder and bites down gently, and Newt kinda sorta accidentally screams at the top of his lungs. Hermann jerks back in surprise for a moment before getting a devious look on his face and moving on to the next blank expanse of skin, alternating between biting and sucking until Newt has started to tune his own moans out they’re coming so loud and so often. Then he trails kisses down Newt’s chest until he’s close enough to wrap his lips around nipple and swirl his tongue around.

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ,” Newt shouts, and grips the headboard with his bound wrists to hold himself in place. “Oh my _God_ , please keep doing that, _yes_.”

“I certainly like how vocal you’re being,” Hermann murmurs against his skin, and Newt huffs out something that’s half laugh, half sob of pleasure. 

“Great, super, glad I could hel-- ah!-- help!”

Hermann laughs, and Newt’s heart squeezes at the sound. He never realized sex could be not just good, but genuinely _fun_. It’s awesome.

“Hermann,” he whines, “fingers, please, I’m literally begging you.” Hermann seems to take pity on him, because he presses one last kiss to Newt’s chest before leaning back to concentrate on getting one of his fingers inside. At the first breach Newt lets out a long hiss, and rocks his hips forward to take it deeper. “Yeah, that’s perfect-- now crook it upward. That’s how you hit the g-spot.”

Hermann looks confused. “The what?”

“The g-spot,” Newt explains. “It’s kinda like the biologically female version of the prostate. You’ll be able to tell when you hit it, just put another finger in and curl them upwards like you’re beckoning someone. I’ll help you find it, don’t worry.”

Hermann nods and gets a look on his face like he’s tackling a particularly tricky proof. He slides another finger in Newt’s entrance, then bends them at the knuckle. Newt shakes his head.

“One joint further upward. Where the skin folds.”

He tries again, and this time Newt yelps when a jolt rushes through him. “Shit! Yeah, right there, that’s perfect. Now just move them in and out while curling them, kinda like a rhythm. Same as a cis guy, just a little different positioning.”

“Like this?” Hermann asks, and slides his fingers in and out while rolling them upwards. Newt sighs and relaxes into it.

“Oh yeah babe, just like that. That’s-- really nice.”

Hermann smiles proudly like a puppy that just learned how to roll over. He follows Newt’s instructions, eyes growing wider and darker as he coaxes various groans and whimpers out of him. Newt pushes his hips forward, trying to take them deeper, and Hermann presses his hand in more until his fingers are sheathed as far as they can go. After a while, it’s not enough, and Newt moves on to the next step.

“Okay, I think you’ve stretched me out enough that I’m ready,” he says. “I like it a little rough, so this is great. Do you know what to do from here?”

Hermann nods and removes his fingers, drawing a whine from Newt at the loss. His own cock is hard and leaking, and he collects a bit of Newt’s release on his fingers to slick himself up. Newt spreads his legs wider, and Hermann’s face quickly turns from concentration to pleasure as he pushes in slowly. 

“Oh,” he says breathlessly, “that’s--”

“Good,” Newt supplies for him, feeling their duel sensations bouncing back and forth through the Drift. “Really good. Keep going.”

He leans forward, sliding in more, until his cock is fully buried, and they both pause for a moment and take a breath. “Wow,” Newt says, raising his legs to wrap them around Hermann’s back, “fuck. Holy fuck. Are you good to start moving?”

In response, Hermann bends at the waist until he’s fully on top of Newt and presses a kiss to his forehead before beginning to rock his hips back and forth. Newt moves his own hips in tandem, gasping as Hermann’s cock hits where his fingers couldn’t. “Yes,” he breathes into the space between them, the air growing warm with their exhalations. “Yeah, harder, please.”

Hermann snaps his hips forward, and from the stutter Newt feels in his movement, it’s clear he’s not going to last very long. “I need--” he gasps, “Newton--”

“Keep going,” Newt replies, “keep-- ah! There, move a little-- oh shit that’s _perfect_ , yeah.”

“Darling man,” Hermann says, apparently getting very sappy when he’s aroused. “My dear, sweet Newton, you’re doing wonderfully--” He cuts himself off with a long groan. “Oh, I’m--”

“It’s okay,” Newt says, moving his hips faster, feeling the slide of Hermann’s cock inside him, the pulse it sends throughout his body whenever it hits a certain spot, “I’m close too, I’m almost there.”

His thrusting speeds up and becomes more erratic as he nears release, but Newt is far gone enough to need just a little more friction before he’s letting out a broken moan as he comes. His walls tighten around Hermann’s cock, and it sends him tumbling over the edge as well, shouting Newt’s name like a proclamation.

They stay like that for almost a minute, catching their breaths as their heart rates fight to return to normal. “Wow,” Newt finally mumbles, tilting his head up to kiss Hermann briefly. “You’re really fuckin’ good at this, babe.”

Hermann smiles against his lips and leans back just enough to pull out, settling next to Newt on the bed and wrapping his arms around him. “Thank you, dear. That’s very sweet of you.”

Newt laughs. “I’m serious. I know it’s not saying much considering, but that was the best sex I’ve had in my life. No joke.”

Hermann fishes around for his hand and takes it, holding it against Newt’s stomach. “And everything felt alright? You weren’t anxious at all?”

“Fuck no, dude. All coherent thought stopped around the time you started railing me; it was amazing.” He squeezes Hermann’s hand as best he can with both of his still tied. “Every single time I think I can’t get more and more in love with you, you prove me wrong. That’s my favorite thing about you.”

Hermann kisses his forehead again. “Then you must know you make me indescribably happy-- more than I ever dreamed or hoped or dared. Each moment I spend with you makes all the waiting worth it. I don’t think you could be less than enough if you tried.”

Newt buries his nose deeper in Hermann’s chest, breathing him in: sex, yes, but chalk dust and chamomile and safety beyond words. Paper, sometimes. Home, always.

“Probably should have implemented this sooner,” he says, “but from now on, we talk about shit before we panic, okay?” Hermann tangles his other hand in Newt’s hair and moves his thumb up and down the crown of his head.

“It’s impossible to argue with that.”

They fall asleep like that, tangled and connected and warm. Hermann dreams, and Newt follows him through the blue of the Drift to a place he both doesn’t recognize, and knows all too well… 

_Rewind_  
The sky is rapturous in the countryside. With barely any light pollution to speak of, the stars come out in full force to paint the night with endless brushes of white. The Milky Way is visible this time of year, and Karla traces its arc with her eyes, noting the swirls of lighter blue and black as it trails across the night sky. Beside her, she can feel Hermann counting each constellation, and there’s a hum of yearning coming from him that she has always felt, but doesn’t think she’ll ever understand. Her life has been consumed with the ground, with humans, with what they have created and destroyed, but her brother is the one that always looks to the stars for answers. He can recite galaxies and coronas as well as she can name all the gods of the Mayan pantheon. They gaze in different directions. They meet in the middle. This is how it’s always been.

Tonight, however, is different. Tonight Karla turns her eyes upwards and tries to see what her brother sees: bodies in perfect alignment, equations that span the galaxy, chemistry and mystery and stardust all in an improbable but perfect design. Her God created this too, and she feels an urge to drink it all in with regards to Him. All of creation, all wonderfully and terribly made; and she is crafted from the same hands. How remarkable. How truly divine.

“It’s the anniversary,” she says into the cool night air, and he nods.

“How are you feeling?”

She thinks on this for a moment. “Stronger. Better than I was all those years ago. It still hurts; it always will, but I can face it now. That’s progress.”

Hermann turns to her and smiles. “Even if I’m the only one to say it, I’m proud of you.”

She returns the expression. “You’re not the only one, but I suppose it will always mean the most coming from you. You were the first person I told, and the only one who knew for a long time. You carried my burden with me, Hermann, and for that I shall always be grateful.”

He looks away and back up at the sky, expression morphing into something more longing. Karla knows what he’s thinking about-- or rather, who. She sighs. “You know it isn’t your fault that he left.”

Hermann’s face doesn’t change. “We’ll agree to disagree.”

“Hermann,” she insists, “no matter how hard you want it, you can’t change the past. You can’t make Newt come back to you. He’s gone, perhaps not forever, but gone for now. Please don’t let yourself grieve too long for him. Please.”

His gaze hardens. “I loved him. I still do. It’s the most foolish and irrational decision I’ve ever made.”

“I know. But one day even that will fade.”

Hermann laughs bitterly. “You think far too highly of me, Karla. I don’t think I could stop loving Newton even if I truly wanted to. It’s awful and stupid, I know, but… I can’t. I’m not strong enough.”

She shakes her head. “It’s not about being strong enough to let go. It’s about loving yourself enough to do so. He hurt you, dear, and you didn’t deserve it. How can you still care for him after that?”

He shrugs, a gesture uncommon for him. “I don’t know. I… oh, you’ll think it’s silly.”

Karla gives him a little half smile. “Try me.”

Hermann presses his lips together and rubs the inside of his thigh with his thumb. “I have this feeling. Call it a premonition, call it Ghost Drift, whatever you will, but… something isn’t right here. I can sense it. Every note of logic and truth that I believe in is telling me that somehow, someway, Newton needs me. He’s hurting. Maybe he won’t come to me now, maybe not for years and years and years, but the universe always makes us find our way back to each other. I simply have to let him choose to return. He has to make that choice. And when he does, I’ll be here for him like I wasn’t before. He was my first… well, my first of a lot of things. I owe him at least that.”

Karla gives him a concerned look. “That’s not very healthy, Hermann.”

He glares at her. “If Vanessa left you, but there was the tiniest, smallest chance that she would come back, wouldn’t you wait for her?”

She opens her mouth to defend herself, but closes it when she realizes he’s right. She would wait for her wife until the sun gave out, and even then a millenia more. That’s love. There’s nothing more human than that.

Instead, she reaches over and pats her brother’s knee. “Then I’ll keep you company while you do. You’d do the same for me.”

He smiles gratefully. “I know it sounds impossible--”

“Love isn’t impossible, Hermann. It defies the odds. That’s why God is love. It’s the holiest thing there is in the universe.”

He stares up at the sky searching, searching. “I do hope He knows what He’s doing up there.”

“That’s faith, I suppose. Trusting in something you just don’t understand.”

Hermann chuckles a little. “Perhaps that’s why you so rarely see a religious scientist, much less a mathematician. We need answers. That’s our calling in life.”

Karla raises an eyebrow. “No one ever said God doesn’t give out answers. He just does it differently than we’re used to. Our job is to piece through the puzzle and listen as best we can.”

“Indeed. If there’s one thing our people understand, it’s picking things back up again and carrying on.”

She pats his knee a second time. “We Jews are made of strong stuff, Hermann. You’ll get through this. We all have.”

Their gazes return to the sky as something flashes in the dark: a shooting star. It’s the first one either of them have seen, and the look of delight on Hermann’s face makes Karla’s heart warm. A sign, most definitely. All hope is not gone; lost sheep return. There’s a plan.

It’s ineffable.

VII.  
After having finally satisfied his libido for the first time in over a decade, Newt is an a pretty good mood for several days afterwards. He does the dishes without being asked (which results in sex), and brings Hermann coffee in bed (which results in more sex), and purposefully wears the sweater that Hermann gave him before Vanessa took him to buy new clothes (three guesses to what happens after that). It’s fucking _awesome_. His thighs kind of ache, and his voice is scratchier than usual, but that’s honestly a pretty good price to pay for the most life-affirming collection of orgasms he’s ever had. Fears? Assuaged. Marriage? Consummated. God? Halle-fucking-lujah. 

He isn’t the one to bring it up the next time he sees Karla, mainly because that topic isn’t very appropriate for a synagogue, even if they’re only in the library. Newt volunteered to help shelve books with her, and the space is quiet except for the sound of flipping pages and a soft conversation between the rabbi and a student a few tables away. Karla picks up a book on feminism in the Jewish faith and tucks it into its place.

“I’m very proud of you, you know,” she says. “Taking that first step is never easy, but it’s always worth it.”

Newt laughs. “How is it that you always know the right thing to say? Hermann and I have been trying to figure that out for years.” 

Karla shrugs. “I have a sense for these things. When you study anthropology for as long as I have, an instinct kicks in. It comes from experience. Which, I’m afraid, you simply can’t get from being cooped up in a lab all day with one other person.” She elbows him gently, and Newt smiles.

“It’s… a little awkward, still. Not perfect. But being with him is really nice; even just romantically. Hermann knows me better than anybody else, and he’s never run.” Newt’s face darkens a little. “That’s always been my job.”

Karla puts a hand on his shoulder. “Not you, dear. _Them_. You have to accept that what happened to you wasn’t your fault; that’s the first part of recovery. Both you and I know that you never would have left Hermann of your own volition, even if he told you to. You love him too much to do that.”

A faint smile returns to Newt’s face. “He’s been left alone so many times. I never want to do that to him, at least not on purpose. He’s my partner: lab and Drift and life. We need to stick together.”

“Survival. The first rule they teach you in science-- I remember that well.”

He turns to her, a question burning in his eyes. “So how do I keep this streak up? How do I make sure I don’t hurt him again, or prove… them, right?”

Karla presses her lips together and thinks, slotting another book into place. “Survive,” she finally says. “Do what they never expected of you.”

Newt frowns. “It’s really that easy?”

She nods, smiling softly. “Live happily. Love tenderly. Spread kindness and have great courage. That, darling, is how you win.”

He mulls this over, expression shifting like clouds in the sky. “Huh. _Huh_.” Then, his eyes lighten. “I can do that.”

Karla removes her hand and nods again, pleased. She hands him a book on the Roman diaspora and points to the section it goes to. Newt takes a few steps away, focused, before turning back for just a moment to look at her. In this instance, in this startling new light, she looks different, and yet exactly the same.

It is abundantly clear that Karla Gottlieb is at ease here. She has found her community, and most importantly, her light. She’s doing exactly what she was put on this Earth to do: uncover God’s creation, one shard at a time. Self actualization, or Nirvana, or whatever you call it. She’s not perfect, no one is, but things look pretty good.

And even if things do go wrong, Newt knows she’ll have faith that everything will turn out alright.

**Author's Note:**

> hey, i'm still not done. personal time, though, so feel free to bounce (perhaps into my inbox at bae-science.tumblr.com to tell me if u liked it), but for those of you interested in how this particular part came to be, and why it's the longest, read on. you've probably figured out by now that i'm a relatively traumatized person who enjoys projecting my emotional baggage onto fictional characters (so who are you to judge, dear reader), but what you may not know is that i'm both a survivor of sexual assult, and also very horny a lot of the time. ah, the younger years. i've seen a couple takes on what newt and hermann's sex life would be like post-uprising, but none of them have really hit the nail on the head the way i see it. the closest mark was my friend avelera's fic, feeling dangerous, and while i love her to bits, i felt if i wanted something done right, i had to do it myself. see, here's the thing they don't tell you about rebuilding your sexual preferences after rape: its awkward, time consuming, and takes the right partner. my story isn't meant to say that being a survivor of sexual assault automatically turns you into a bottom or whatever, but it genuinely does change the way you view intimacy. wig. newt was raped mentally, and that's different then what we humans can understand. mind control doesn't exist (for now). assault is physical. it doesn't touch our minds in the way possession is portrayed in media, or at least in uprising. i wanted to explore that, and i wanted to do it through the lens of what helped me come to terms with my experience: religion. i was raised catholic (school in the south, hellfire and sodomy, blah blah blah), but i have always felt a much stronger draw to the jewish side of my family. the idea of there not being a hell, especially when i have been told all my life that's where i'm headed, is comforting, as well as a bunch of other little reasons. ineffability creates meaning, and as a writer and a poet, i need that. i'm not saying religion is for everyone, and there are certainly bad parts of judaism (looking at you orthodoxies who won't vaccinate their fucking kids), but for me personally, that's where i found comfort and solace. newt is a scientist at heart, that much is true, but he's also a creative mind, and we as people are naturally drawn towards the idea of meaning and purpose in everything. i also think that he'd find the idea of a higher power loving him no matter what he's done or what he becomes, very appealing. if this isn't your cup of tea, i won't wave a flag trying to convert you or be rude, but if you see yourself in karla or hermann or even newt, this story is for you. the world doesn't like jewish people right now, but as karla insists, we've been through a whole goddamn lot as a people. they can't stomp us out no matter how hard they try; they always fail in the end. be proud of who you are, who your ancestors are, and never lose sight of the fact that you were made to be exactly as you are: gay, trans, disabled, disordered, or whatever. find the light. keep the faith. maybe one day we'll make another holiday about it.


End file.
